


I'll Take Care of You

by reanimatorjuice



Series: Circus of Fears [4]
Category: Original Work, The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: 1920s, Angst, Circus, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jazz Age, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sick Character, Sick Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:27:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28371606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reanimatorjuice/pseuds/reanimatorjuice
Summary: A continuation of the series that expands on the universe of my two lovely TMA avatar OCs, Vincent Teller and Damian RomanescuCharacter sheets, the general establishing fic, and more info are all linked in the beginning notes should you want to learn more about them before readingIn this one, Vincent is sick and Damian has to take care of him. This was supposed to be fluff but tensions run a little high here
Relationships: OC/OC, Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Vincent Teller (OC)/Damian Romanescu (OC)
Series: Circus of Fears [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2056092
Kudos: 2





	I'll Take Care of You

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I love these two very much and hope other people enjoy them as much as I do. 
> 
> If you want to know more, [here](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1p_lV_zk2J76A6q63mZH5JXz-6-bP521cnnImDSxu3C4/edit?usp=sharing) are their character sheets with art and a lot more info, [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28068120/chapters/68763807) is a general fic of their backstories and [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28068291/chapters/68764290) is a NSFW fic
> 
> I also made [Vincent](https://pin.it/2UyEu1m) and [Damian](https://pin.it/6eAIAHs) Pinterest boards as well as a [YouTube playlist](https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLkFVYAOUmByRvx0DADL3QwO6wPf6AIHVk). 
> 
> Otherwise, I tried to make a relatively 1920s accurate sick fic and they did be having some crazy cures to things.

The light was low in the caravan with all the windows open, as it was acting as a sickroom for its owner. From the outside, all that was visible were the two shadows, silhouettes, of the men inside. One was standing in the middle of the small home while the other was visibly frail and laying in bed... 

Damian took the pot of chicken soup off the stove and poured two bowls of it. His mother used to make it for him as a child, and now here he was making it for Vincent, who had fallen ill with the flu. 

It was not the first time he’d seen Vincent sick, far from it. He knew Vincent had been a frail child with a poor immune system, prone to ailments such as scarlet fever when he was young and asthma. His drug and smoking habits certainly didn’t help the matter, and Damian feared for his health constantly. But Vincent was too proud to listen to his advice, so all Damian could do was be there to deal with the repercussions. 

Damian grabbed the bowls and quietly walked over to the bed, sitting on the edge and reaching out to hand one to Vincent before realizing he would be too weak to hold it, instead setting it on the bedside table. All he could hear was the wheezing that came with each of Vincent’s breaths. 

He knew Vincent wasn’t asleep. He couldn’t, hadn’t been. 

“Did you get any rest today?” Damian asked softly anyway, face a look of concern.

Vincent’s eyes fluttered open and looked at him wearily, almost imperceptibly shaking his head no. 

Damian sighed, setting his own bowl aside to place the back of his hand on Vincent’s forehead. 

“You’re still burning up,” he noted in dismay. 

Vincent hummed, the sound cracking in his throat. “That’s what happens when you have a fever, darlin’,” he rasped. 

Damian would’ve given him a playful nudge for the teasing tone, but he was too worried for games. That was the longest string of words Vincent had said in two days. “You sound awful…” 

Vincent only hummed again, turning back to look at the ceiling.

The other man always either acted like an utter child while sick, or on his worse days fell into a kind of depressive spell. Either way, it wasn’t easy for either of them, and this had been one of the worst bouts of illness Damian had seen since they’d been together. 

Vincent’s eyes had closed again, too weak to keep them open. His shirt was unbuttoned, showing his pale, clammy skin. His eyebrows were scrunched together in pain, and he had dark, heavy bags under his eyes from the exhaustion. There was a bowl of steaming water with herbs floating around in it next to the bed that Vincent had been breathing in to ease the awful coughing. Damian reached over to pet his damp hair, and Vincent leaned into the touch. 

“Let’s give you some more of that medicine the doctor gave you,” Damian suggested, “Then I’ll give you your soup. It’s getting cold. Okay?” 

Vincent made a face but nodded, lamely reaching over himself to feel for the medicine bottle on the table. The bottle was small and made of green glass and had an old, peeling label. It had been given to Vincent by one of the salesmen that travelled with the circus sometimes, who proclaimed to be a doctor but had always suspiciously avoided the mention of his place of study. God knew what was in it -- it could’ve been anything from cocaine to heroin -- but if it worked, it worked, was Vincent’s philosophy. He uncorked the bottle and took a swig of the sickly sweet syrup, shivering at the taste but almost immediately seeming to relax. 

Taking the bottle from Vincent, Damian placed it back on the table and took the bowl of the still-warm soup. His own meal would be cold by the time he finished caring for Vincent, but he could always reheat it on the furnace stove. 

Spoonful by spoonful, Damian fed Vincent like a mother and her child, which they were both quietly embarrassed about. Vincent was too tired for conversation, so Damian filled the silence by quietly telling a childhood bedtime story he remembered, about a king and queen who promise their unborn son, who wouldn’t stop crying, that they would gift him ‘youth without age and life without death,’ and his journey to find it himself when their promise could not be fulfilled. 

Soon as the bowl was empty, Damian placed it back on the kitchen counter and grabbed a wet cloth to clean the sweat from Vincent’s skin and cool him off. It was difficult to tell if he was feeling hot or cold with the fever  _ and  _ shivering. 

Damian sat back down on the side of the bed, “Do you need more blankets?” he asked. 

There was no response. Vincent’s eyes were closed again, but the rasping had stopped as his breathing seemed to, too. A spike of panic went through Damian. 

“Can you hear me? Vincent?” He shook Vincent’s shoulder roughly, who started awake. 

“God, what? I was falling asleep,” Vincent tried to snap, and that was it for Damian. 

He stood up quickly. “Dammit! Every day you scare me, you know that?” Damian fumed, “Every time you’re sick I wonder if it’s going to be the one that kills you. Every cigarette I wonder if it’s going to be the one to cause your heart to stop. Do you ever think about me -- how I feel when you treat your body like you’re some immortal god when you’re not? Keep this up and you’ll leave me alone far too soon…” Damian’s voice cracked, but not for the reason Vincent’s was. “I don’t want you to die…” 

There was a heavy silence, the two just staring at one another. 

Vincent’s eyes were shocked and Damian’s close to tears. 

Slowly, Vincent reached out to grab Damian’s hand, which after a tense beat Damian accepted. His were cool and soft in contrast to Damian’s warm and calloused palms. 

“Let’s talk about this when I’m well and clear-headed,” Vincent offered. 

Damian sighed and nodded, knowing that was the best he was going to get for now. He turned his head to discreetly wipe away the tear that threatened to fall. 

“I think it’s time for bed,” Damian said tiredly. 

Hesitating a moment, Damian bent down and pressed a kiss to Vincent’s forehead. “I love you,” he said. 

Vincent gave him a sad smile, “Love you, too.” 

With that, Damian left and shut the door, his own dinner forgotten, and headed back to his own caravan. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you again for reading :,) if you want to talk to me about these bastards or ask any questions, my NSFW twitter is @spiralnips with my SFW twitter, tumblr, and Instagram being @reanimatorjuice
> 
> I also have a Discord server for other avatar OCs in the same circus! Ask me on any of my socials and I'll send ya the link
> 
> I also have the idea in my head that Vincent will die quite young, maybe by 45 at the latest. And because Damian is a Vast avatar he'll live much, much longer. Very sad.


End file.
